A Farmer's Widow
by Elohim.Aelf
Summary: It was a completely normal morning for Elisabetta until a Musketeer wanders into her garden and collapses from mysterious injuries. Who is this man and will she be able to save not only his body but his wounded heart as well. Set before show. I suck at summaries. Aramis/OC Rated T for minor gore.
1. Chapter 1

Elisabetta hummed quietly to herself as she stooped to pick some herbs from outside her front door. The sun was slowing rising behind her house and like every day, she rose along with it, having to tend the farm as her husband used to before he was killed by bandits. The past year had proved tough as she was unaccustomed to farm work, but necessity had forced her to learn and her arms had grown strong, her hands calloused, and her skin tanned by the sun.

As a woman living alone in the countryside a few miles outside of Paris, she had learned to keep a blade on her at all times, and more than once she had to chase away bandits who mistook her as a feeble, delicate young lady.

At 24, she was easily the youngest woman living in the area; her husband had moved them out of the city after they got married, hoping to make room for the children they planned on having. But after 3 years of marriage, it seemed as if she was infertile, and then her husband was killed, so the farmhouse would remain empty forever.

On this particular morning, something seemed off to Elisabetta, a strange feeling in her gut warned her of danger, and she was constantly glancing at the road that ran in front of her property, her hand moving to touch the knife at her hip with each look.

Reassuring herself that she was being silly, she had just turned her full attention to her garden when she heard the distant sound of shuffling feet along the gravel path. Whipping her head around, she peered into the distance and made out the figure of a man, hat sitting crookedly on his head, stumbling and shuffling along the road, almost losing his balance with every other step. She relaxed and tutted, "Oh those stupid taverns always produce even stupider men in the morning."

Forgetting the drunk, she sat down in a very unladylike manner, muddying her dress, to inspect the oregano, gently removing the browning leaves from the plant and tossing them aside. Engrossed in her pruning, she did not hear the footsteps approaching until they were directly behind her.

Ready to fight off her attacker, Elisabetta jumped up and had her knife at the man's throat in a second, holding the drunkard off at arm's length.

"Don't come any closer or I will not hesitate to lay open your jugular! Just because I am a woman does not mean I won't—"Elisa stopped speaking as she realized the man she thought was drunk was wearing a musketeer's uniform. Looking up at his face, as he towered over her small frame, she realized that he was extremely pale, his half-closed eyes were unfocused and distant and his lips moved as he whispered something in a language she didn't understand.

Confused, she lowered her knife and looked the man up and down, eyes widening as she saw his hands clutched over a large patch of blood right under the right side of his ribcage. The blue sash he had tied around the wound was completely soaked through with blood and just as Elisabetta opened her mouth to ask if he was alright, the man's eyes rolled back and he crumpled at her feet.

Giving a small yelp of surprise, Elisa stood over him for a moment, unsure what to do. Then, when the man quietly moaned in pain as he regained consciousness, she snapped out of her stupor and knelt at his side. She carefully pried his hands from his wound and winced as she saw the full extent of his injury. He had obviously been shot, but not recently as the ragged hole in his skin was barely oozing blood and the skin around it had already had a chance to turn the angry red color of infection. Elisa quickly tore off some of her skirt and pressed it tightly against the bullet hole, trying to stem the sluggish blood flow.

The musketeer gasped as she applied pressure, and his right hand caught hers, squeezing tightly and groaning in pain. Elisa tore her eyes from her now bloodied hand that was enfolded in his and studied the man's face.

His hat had fallen off when he fell and his wavy brown hair lay tousled around him. He was very handsome, and Elisabetta silently chided herself for staring too long at his thin nose, sharp cheekbones and full lips partially hidden under a neatly trimmed moustache.

The musketeer's brow was drawn with pain and he was sweating from fever yet his dark eyes that were studying her were sharp, cautious, and fearful. He had grown quiet, his incomprehensible mumbling had ceased and his mouth was open only to take in quick, panicked gasps of air.

"Um, you must speak French because you are a Musketeer, so would you mind telling me your name, monsieur?" Elisabetta blushed slightly despite herself as she felt his intense gaze on her.

"Aramis."


	2. Chapter 2

**Author's Note: **_Hey guys! I'm sooooo sorry about how long it has taken to update! I am in the middle of finals season and I have all my finals and 5 AP exams to take so yeah, sadly my writing has to suffer for the sake of grades :( But! I got this all written today and it's not…that..great…sorry! Please don't kill me! _

Elisabetta had no idea what to do. Here was this incredibly handsome stranger sprawled injured among her garden, getting his blood all over himself, the leaves and her hands. She wasn't sure if she should be irritated, terrified, or excited!

The man, Aramis, she reminded herself mentally, was seemingly more coherent than she was.

"Well madame, I apologize for the inconvenience," he was polite even half conscious, "but if you wouldn't mind, I would very much like to get up off the ground and onto a surface that is not dirt. And if I could bother you for some medical supplies and some hot water, I can tend to myself and be on my way soon." Aramis' voice sounded confident enough, but his pupils were dilated with fever and Elisa could see his arms shaking as he managed to prop himself up on his elbows.

"Oh monsieur please don't overexert yourself! I can get you into the house," Elisa's hands quickly grabbed onto the musketeer's shoulders as he swayed dangerously and she could feel heat radiating from his skin, "I am stronger than I look and you need medical attention. Are you ready? Okay, one, two, three!"

On her final count, she quickly tucked herself into the crook of Aramis' arm and hauled him up rather harshly, trying to counter his weight with momentum, and the injured man let out a short cry of pain.

Wincing in sympathy yet unable to do anything until she got him inside, Elisabetta half carried, half dragged Aramis into her cottage, trying to do her best not jostle him too much and failing. By the time she managed to sit him on her bed, the man was unconscious again and she figured it was safe to leave him to gather her small supply of medical equipment.

Her fingers fluttered nervously as she hovered over the unconscious soldier; she held a pair of scissors in her hands, poised a few inches above his body, ready to cut his coat and shirt away. Elisa silently scolded herself for the second time that day as she felt her cheeks flush, whether it was from her nervousness around blood or her nervousness around handsome gentlemen was beyond her, but either excuse seemed inappropriate when this man was simply lying there bleeding to death on her best linens.

"Okay. You can do this Elisabetta," she quietly pumped herself up, "You have birthed lambs before with minimal swooning, and that involves far too much blood. And stitching a person up should not be so different from stitching up clothing. And it's not like you haven't seen a man without his clothing on before! Come on, I can do this, tending a farm by myself must have given me some sort of strength!" Sighing and praying she didn't faint, she quickly snipped through Aramis' coat then shirt, gently maneuvering his arms out of the sleeves and tossing the dirtied garments aside.

Elisa let out a small squeak as she saw the full extent of his injuries. His entire right side was painted with blood, some dried and some fresh; the actual bullet hole was the size of a coin and its ragged edges were an angry infection red. Besides the musket wound, Aramis' ribcage was severely bruised and he sported a gash just above his hipbone that Elisa suspected would require stitches. But the most worrying injury was by far the gunshot.

As tenderly as she could manage, she tucked her hand under the musketeer's back and gently felt around for the exit wound, swearing quite unladylike when she found his back smooth and unmarked. How on earth was she supposed to restrain a fully grown man while trying to dig a bullet out of him!? Actually, how was she supposed to dig a bullet out in the first place?!

Elisa cast an annoyed glance towards the heavens and hoped that God understood her irritation. "Mon Deiu! You just have to make things difficult don't you, monsieur? I don't care how handsome you are, this is not worth it!" She nearly fell from the edge of the bed as Aramis snickered quietly.

"Well, it's glad to know that my charms can get me a healer when one is needed," his voice was quiet and full of pain yet he managed to inject a certain amount of endearing sarcasm into the statement that caused Elisabetta's cheeks to flush yet again.

The lighthearted moment was gone as soon as the stubborn soldier tried sitting up, only to gasp and end up a crumpled heap in Elisa's lap, getting even more blood on her already ruined apron. Genuinely worried about him and overcoming her fear of laying a hand on him, she swiftly and gently repositioned him on the bed; and, paying no attention to his weak protests that he was fine and just needed to rest, wasted no time in pressing a wine soaked rag against his bullet wound.

The cry that came from Aramis tore her heart in half; he feebly writhed under the firm pressure of her hand and she could tell he was trying his hardest to resist bucking her off of him. She tried her best to calm him, rubbing circles on his shoulder as she poured more wine onto the rag and started to mop the blood off of his body. After his initial scream, he had clenched his mouth shut and all that escaped were pained gasps; his right hand found her skirt and he gripped it tightly as she cleaned the cut on his hip.

After she was done, he just let his body go limp, a feverish sweat replacing the blood that had just been wiped away. Elisa slumped back on the bed, leaning against wall. Well, she thought, that was exhausting, but I'm sure he is much more tired than I am. Nerves frazzled, she shakily climbed over Aramis and stood up, walking to the sink as fast as her trembling legs could take her. She scrubbed the blood from her hands and returned to the bed with a cup of water.

Aramis did not speak a word and he simply gave her a sincerely thankful glance through tired eyes as she lifted his head from the mattress to help him drink. Planning to let him rest before attempting to remove the musket ball, she turned to set the cup on the table when he caught her hand.

"Do you know how to do it?" Aramis asked, nodding down towards his injury, "I'll try my best to help you but….I don't think I will be able to once you start." Elisa gulped loudly as the gravity of what she had to do hit her. Eyes wide and staring at the bullet wound, she made a small noise of fear and stumbled forward a bit, catching herself on the edge of the bed and miraculously not fainting.

Seeing her fall, Aramis instinctively tried to lunge forward to catch her and of course ended up sending a new waterfall of blood pouring from his wounds. This time, he managed to suppress his scream and, concerned for Elisa, ignored the pain and tried his hardest to haul himself into a sitting position to make sure she was alright.

Elisabetta felt so guilty as she saw the color drain from his face when he tried to catch her and shook the fear off of her. Gathering her wits, pushing down the nausea and forcing Aramis to lie back down, she murmured a quick prayer asking for strength then turned her full attention on the man whose breathing was becoming more labored by the minute.

Placing a reassuring hand on Aramis' shoulder and meeting his eyes with confidence, Elisa simply said, "I'll make it and you are going to be fine as long as I am here. Just tell me what I have to do."

**Yet Another Note: **_So, again, please pardon the state of this chapter! I just wanted to upload at least something. I will put more effort into the next one I promise! But it will probably not be uploaded until next weekend. :P Anyways, thanks so much for reading! Reviews are like hugs! I like criticism :)_


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